


What Cynthia Saw

by sweptawaybayou



Category: Angel: the Series, Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-16
Updated: 2012-10-16
Packaged: 2017-11-16 10:11:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/538349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweptawaybayou/pseuds/sweptawaybayou





	What Cynthia Saw

She’d been with him since the beginning. Watched him from the steno pool when he started on the lowest rung of the pole. Watched as he chewed and clawed, backstabbed and fought and fucked his way up. Taking out employees who’d put in more years, more time, had more invested in the company without mercy or regrets and he did it all with a smile, _that_ smile on his face. 

She made herself indispensable to him from the start, stayed long after her eight hours were over. Spent night after night in his office, her high heels tossed under the table. Typing up proposals, going over artwork and photographs, fighting over slogans and reworking layouts until the room was turning gray with dawn and he would tell her to leave, to go home and shower and meet him back here in two hours.

Every other assistant in the building was convinced that she was in love with him. She suffered their pitying glances and invitations out on Friday nights to meet someone new with a scorn and derision that would have made Brian proud, if he’d known, or cared. She never loved him, not once did she fantasize about that one night that he would stop, that papers would fall from his long fingers when he looked at her, when he truly saw her sitting there beside him and words of love would fall from his lush lips. She never once dreamt of him fucking her on the glass of his desk in a position so many others had held. She knew he was homosexual from the moment she’d met him and the only organ she coveted was his incredible brain, his one-track mind. His ability to charm the most homophobic, bigoted prick and do it with a smile. _That_ smile.

She had a beautiful one-bedroom apartment. She had money in her bank account and fine clothes in her closet. She had two or three men she could call when she would get home before midnight and they would come over, strip her naked and fuck her until she told them to come, to stop, to leave. She had a membership to one of the most exclusive gyms in the city and the envy of every employee at the firm. She had her hands and her time full trying to anticipate Brian’s every move and be there before him. Holding a cup of coffee, a plane ticket, his jacket or the article, folder, hotel key, room number, a client’s dirty little secret. Whatever Brian would need before running back to her tiny office to take two minutes to breathe and figure out what where who when and how he would be moving next and next and next.

Brian Kinney was her life. She had chosen this ride and never looked back.

And sometimes …

She watched him. 

Pull her long, blonde hair up and under a baseball cap. Wash off the professional makeup she could put on in fifteen minutes flat every morning. Slip out of her Christian Dior or Chanel and put on Levis and a flannel shirt. Her breasts pressed down under a tight sports bra, a dildo in the crotch of her jeans. Nothing flashy, nothing huge, just something that, if anyone was looking, made her one of the guys, and she would head down to Liberty Avenue and follow him. A beer in her hand, a cigarette between her lips, the object of her obsession in her sights.

She would watch him drink and dance, play pool and talk. Fight with his friends and pick up lovers. She’d follow him into alleys and back rooms and stand in the shadows as he got sucked and as he fucked. Until she knew every expression he made, every inch of his body, every growl, grunt and moan he made when he was ready to come, when he came, when he pushed them away with a pat on the head and _that_ smile. He fascinated her and as she watched his mating ritual over and over. The way he could pick someone out of the crowd, stalk them or bring them to him with only a look, his eyes speaking volumes in a casual glance. The lift of an eyebrow, the tilt of his head, the curve of his lips and the way he was never once turned down, never rejected.

It wasn’t every night and it wasn’t even every week. Once or twice a month, depending on when she became curious, on when she wanted to know what Brian was doing, who he was doing. When she wanted to see his face in the blue glow of streetlights, his head thrown back, his eyes closed, his brilliant mind turned off for fifteen minutes. 

She knew how he felt about Justin before he did, before he could admit it, even to himself. She knew how much Michael loved him before he told him. She knew Ted and Emmett and Mel and Lindsay and all their secrets. She was invisible and daring and so very careful. She’d had a few close calls, but none with anyone that moved in Brian’s inner circle. A tiny, powerful taser in the pocket of her jacket and she was invincible. 

It had become a game, an addiction. How close could she get to him before he noticed her? How deep into the world of gay men could she dive before someone spotted her, outed her. She knew what Brian would do if he ever found out. Laugh at her, buy her a drink and then cut her off. Oh, she’d still have a job, he wouldn’t go that far, but it wouldn’t be with him or for him and if it happened, he’d be smiling … _that_ smile.

 

~~

 

She had seen him the minute he stepped into the light. Everyone in the place had seen him. Heads turned when he walked in, a ripple of conversation rose and fell as he passed tables crowded with men sitting together as if he was a celebrity unexpectedly slumming. Cynthia was in the corner, perched on a stool. A warm beer in her hand, her eyes stinging from the smoke that collected despite the ceiling fans and open door. Summertime on Liberty Avenue, a hot night and everyone, it seemed, was out. The place was packed with men in shorts, bare chests, huge wigs and sparkling dresses. Perfume and hair spray and cologne clogged the senses, laughter and music so loud it carried over from bar to bar to bar and this man walked in as if he didn’t see any of it, didn’t hear anything.

His eyes were the darkest brown Cynthia thought she had ever noticed, insanely broad shoulders under a leather jacket that she knew had cost more than she made last year. Pale skin, his shirt open just enough to reveal a smooth, hairless chest and a look on his face that carried no invitation, no welcome. He ordered a beer and leaned against the bar. Looking for all the world as if he didn’t even see the swirling crowd around him, as if he couldn’t feel the infectious bass beat of music vibrating up through the soles of his expensive shoes, but Cynthia could see his surreptitious glances. Over his shoulder, when he lifted his head and tilted the bottle back. He was looking for someone, for something. Her eyes flickered over to Brian who stood at the pool table, his cue rolling in his fingers, the point of his tongue licked over his top lip.

It was National Geographic and The Wild Kingdom all over again. The only question on everyone’s mind at the exact same moment, who was the hunter and who was the prey?

Cynthia watched Brian make the first move. Because he always did, always would. He handed off his cue to whoever was standing next to him and walked to the bar. _That_ smile curved his mouth, amusement and interest and lust in his eyes. She was just close enough to hear Brian’s voice as he spoke and turned her head down. She focused on the label she was slowly tearing free of the domestic she knew she wouldn’t finish, on the off chance that he would, if he could, tear his eyes away and look around.

“Buy you a drink?” Brian asked and Cynthia knew by now, he had already mentally undressed the stranger.

“Already have one.”

“New in town?” And he was bending him over and fucking him.

“Would you know if I wasn’t?”

Cynthia couldn’t help it, she had to look up, to watch this exchange unfold. Usually by this point, Brian had them on their knees, or at the very least, leaning toward him. For once, this man looked as if he was going to make Brian work for the attention and this was something she just had to see.

Brain leaned forward and up, his mouth close enough to the stranger’s ear that if he wanted, he could lick the folds. His jaw moving as he spoke, his voice far too quiet for anyone else to hear and Cynthia could feel the difference in the air the moment he moved away with _that_ smile on his face.

“Angel.”

Brian laughed, his fingers playing with the tumbler of whiskey in front of him.

“I’ll just bet you are. I’m Brian.”

Angel’s smile matched Brian’s, his eyes warming as they flickered over Brian’s body. Even with his expensive wardrobe, Brian managed to still exude sexuality, raw sensuality as if it was something he put on over the Armani, after the Gucci and Prada. As if burnt through the labels.

“Come here.”

Cynthia watched as Brian gathered a handful of silk and pulled. For just one moment, just one second she was sure that the stranger, Angel, would not follow him. Would not allow himself to be willingly led away from the bar, from his drink, like a dog on a leash, like most of Brian’s conquests. Like all of Brian’s conquests, but he did. And she noticed in just that one minute, that one brief pause, Angel’s friendly smile did not quite reach his eyes.

She followed them out into the humid night air, hanging back just enough to look like one of the passing crowd. Ended up standing in the shadow of a corner of a brick wall, out of the pale illumination of the street lights, her face turned down under the brim of her baseball cap. Watched at they turned against the rough surface, lips meeting in a battle of wills that she could feel, even from her safe vantage point of ten feet away. 

Buttons popping from expensive shirts, shoes scuffing on rocks and concrete and there was the blink of an eye when she thought that this would end like any one of Brian’s other alley assignations. But then, for the first time, she saw Brian sinking to his knees, Angel’s back against the bricks, his head up facing the stars as Brian’s fingers pulled at his belt and unbuttoned, unzipped his pants. Cynthia had to blink, had to reach up and rub her eyes to make sure what she was seeing was actually happening. Brian on his knees, Angel’s long, pale cock in his mouth and the hungry, growling, thirsty sounds that reached her ears made her thighs press together, made her want to reach down and touch herself as if she was some wanton slut.

When Angel came, she was sure she had also. The crotch of her jeans wet and hot. Her fingers trembled and dug into the flannel of her shirt. It was like nothing she had ever witnessed before. Painful and real, there was none of the fag fantasy that surrounded this block like a shroud, a place where reality was not welcome and absolutely not wanted. She knew that Brian had felt it also, she knew that he had recognized the moment as he stood, his fingers moving to cradle Angel’s head on his shoulder.

“Amazing, isn’t it?”

The quiet, accented voice over her shoulder made her jump, the pale face that loomed out of the darkness made her hand reflexively reach for and close over the taser in her pocket.

“What?” She glanced back, tearing her eyes from the sight of Angel and Brian kissing, shirts open, pants hanging loose and open around their hips.

The man beside her smiled. All defined cheekbones and bleached blonde hair. Blue eyes as sharp as ice and his gaze too, was pinned to the pair against the wall.

“How he does it. Picks out the best one in a crowd. Pulls them in. Men. Women. Slayers. Give him ten minutes and they’ll be on their backs, fifteen and they’ll be begging him to never leave.” He whispered.

“Brian?” Cynthia took a breath, started to slowly pull the weapon out of her jacket until she felt cold fingers over hers.

“Stop. I’m not going to hurt you. I’m just providing back up to the pouf over there. Kind of like you’re doing for your pretty fag.”

“I’m not-" Cynthia started and stopped the moment the man beside her raised his hand. A smirk on his lips and a weary look in his eyes.

“Don’t even try.” His voice was low. He was standing too close to her. She could smell his cologne, the familiar layer of tobacco and the leather of his jacket. He made her feel small and weak and … like a girl. In a place where feeling like that was the last thing she wanted.

“Who are you?” Cynthia asked and she saw the blue of his eyes darken for a moment before he tore them away from Angel and Brian and looked at her.

“My brother’s keeper.” 

“What?”

“Nothing,” His smile returned and she felt his hand touch the back of hers. “Spike. Nice to meet you.”

Cynthia had to laugh, covering her mouth. Such a conventional, polite greeting that contrasted with where they were, and what they were both doing. She looked back over to the wall, to the heat that poured from the pair that stood there under lights that leeched the color from their clothes, from their hair, from their eyes. The glowing lamps from the street that couldn’t hide the white, hot flame of passion that moved between them as they rolled against the bricks. Kisses that she could hear, hands moving under shredded clothing with a determination she could feel. Angel’s fingers wrapped around Brian’s cock, jerking him roughly, his mouth sliding away from lips to neck and she could feel the change in the man that stood beside her. The way he moved from _just watching_ to complete tension. The electricity that charged the air around Brian and Angel, slipping over and covering them, until Angel’s head turned and once again he was devouring Brian’s mouth.

“What just happened?” She asked, watched as Spike’s eyebrow arched and he pulled a cigarette out of a pack he’d taken from an inner pocket of his coat.

“Just keepin’ an eye on my boy.”

“Why?”

“He’s been through a lot. Hasn’t completely recovered. Sometimes he needs … more than what I can give him. He needs something _warm_.”

“What are you talking about?” 

Questions asked in the dark, to the stranger beside her. The smell of his cigarette making her want one too and neither of them took their eyes off the men they watched.

Angel had Brian against the bricks now, both hands between his legs. One twisting and pulling and stroking, one under and behind Brian’s balls, fingers pressing inside, curling and turning. Angel’s mouth moving down Brian’s chest, pushing his shirt open, nibbling, biting his nipples. Cynthia couldn’t remember seeing Brian like this, ever. Every time before this, an imitation, unreal. Angel was in complete control, creating an aura of lust around them that made her knees weak to witness. Each slick, wet motion of his hand on Brain told her that this was not the first time Brian would come, that Angel was not finished. She could smell them, sex and semen and sweat that drifted under the smoke and cologne of the man standing next to her.

“He’s been through the end of the world. A couple of times. Last one was the worst, took something out of him, left us alone together to try to find it, to find him again. But sometimes he slips and that’s why I watch.”

“You’re not telling me anything.”

“I’ve already told you too much.” His hand touched hers again and Cynthia took the offered pack of cigarettes, pulled one out and reached for her lighter. The Marlboro dropped to the ground when she sensed, rather than felt, Spike moving from her side and she looked up.

Yellow eyes where brown and blue used to be, faces contorted into … something terrifying. Spike grabbed Angel from behind and pulled him away from Brian. Long white teeth glittered, reflecting the streetlights. 

“Back off, Angel.” His voice was barely recognizable, a growling echo of the man that had stood beside her.

“No. Mine.”

“Angel.” Cynthia saw Brian reach out, his eyes still clouded with lust. 

Blood ran in twin rivulets, black down his chest from his neck. She almost stepped forward, her feet already moving when she felt Spike beside her again. His face flickering from the man she met to something else, something unthinkable.

“It was nice meeting you.” He smiled and for an instant she could see them, Spike dragging Angel away through the crowd. Moving too fast to be seen and into the dark recesses of another alley and gone.

Cynthia shrunk back into the shadows as Brian buttoned his pants, pulled his shirt closed. Wincing when he touched the cuts on his neck and looked at the blood that stained his palm with confusion.

“Hey, Brian. We’re headed to Babylon. You coming?” A voice called from the street. Ted, Emmet, probably Michael. Brian nodded, shook his head. His eyes clearing as he lit a joint and walked past Cynthia to his friends. 

To his life.

Now she stayed inside at night. She never went out after Brian anymore. Never followed him from club to club, staying in the dark. She never slept with the lights off. She’d bought four crosses, one for each window, one for the door to her apartment and one to wear around her neck, under her shirts and camisoles and sweaters. 

She didn’t believe what she had seen, she never thought about it, but whenever Brian talked about going out to Babylon or Woody’s or any of the bars on Liberty Avenue, Cynthia’s stomach would roll and her heart would beat just that much faster. A light sweat would break out on her forehead and she would have to excuse herself to the bathroom until she stopped trembling and in her nightmares she would return to that bar and that alley and the night when Brian didn’t smile _that_ smile.

 

~Fin


End file.
